Colors
by ConsultingCaffrey
Summary: Neal Caffrey plus colors
1. Red

The sun was just about to go down as Neal made it home and the fading light made the room look warm and inviting. The day had been uneventful and disappointing, but now that he was away from the plain bureau walls, he could relax and focus his mind on something else.

He looked at the easel still set up over by the table with a half finished sketch he'd only half tried with. He found that he'd been drawing the same things over and over, no inspiration whatsoever. Tonight, he felt different. His creativity had returned for the moment, so he used it, picking up a pencil and flipping to a new blank sheet. He paused to consider it briefly, imagining what he wanted, then he began to draw.

The sun was now a brilliant red and it cast its light across the page. Neal liked the color and used it to guide his pencil, trying to capture the shade in the lines. Most people associated red with anger, but not him. He'd always thought of red as the sunset, the most peaceful time of the day where the world seemed to stop for just that short period of time.

Soon the red faded but Neal kept it in his mind as he sketched out the image of the old bridge he still hadn't forgotten about. He wanted to capture it in full this time, not just a sketch on a hotel wall, hidden by a painting. So he finished the outline and picked up a brush. It took him a while to mix the right colors, but once he had them, he was satisfied. Slowly, he filled the page with dark blue, rusty orange, and that brilliant shade of sunset red.

Hours must have passed and he worked well into the night, but he hardly noticed. Time was no longer important to him, only the picture he slowly brought to life. And when it was done and he stepped back to look at it, he nodded, smiling to himself.

Peace. That was red to him.


	2. Orange

Orange had never been one of his favorite colors. He didn't mind certain shades, but for the most part, no.

The man in front of him wore orange. He also wore a look on his face that Neal found disturbing and he was beginning to question whether or not he should be here. It was for the FBI, of course. What else? But this op was beginning to feel wrong.

Now they were calling him by name. His real name, not the alias he'd given them. This was bad. There were guns. A lot of guns. Neal remembered exactly why he didn't like guns. He felt a jolt of fear run through him and he tried to save his cover, though if they already knew his name, it was far too late for that.

A distraction. Must have been Peter. Neal didn't care, he just ran. He darted out of there and heard the shouts of the men behind him as they realized he was escaping. Neal was fast, but they had guns. He didn't like these odds.

Lucky for him, he had Peter. He didn't have to run for long. And now he remembered why he didn't like orange. It was sharp and sudden. It caught your attention really quick.

Orange was fear.


	3. Yellow

Yellow is joy, of course. Neal wonders if it is for everyone. It's the best fit, anyway. He feels joy quite a lot, sometimes more strongly and sometimes it's subtle. He gets excited over dumb things and most of the time it's not out of the ordinary for him to be happy.

Today, though, he's over the top. It's Christmas. And he gets to spend the evening at the bureau eating cookies, drinking champagne, and sticking reindeer antlers on anyone not wearing them already. It's his favorite holiday and everyone knows it. Not because of the gifts or the food or the games. But the people. It's always about people with Neal.

He laughs with Jones at the gifts they got for each other. He shares the last sugar cookie with Elizabeth. And he relishes in the fact that he's never seen Peter smile this much.

That's why he likes yellow. It's the happiest feeling in the world, almost contagious. It lets him forget about silly things like how his world has been reduced to two miles and every movement of his is watched closely. None of that matters. For now, he just wants to see how many agents he can trick with mistletoe.


	4. Green

Green

Green isn't a good feeling, but it isn't a bad one. It's just kind of... there. Neal's not even sure what to call it. Maybe it's loneliness. Maybe it's sadness. Or maybe it's just those times where he feels insignificant.

Like right now, for example. He's sitting alone on his bed, looking at a case file but not really seeing it. He can't help but feel like he's doing all this for nothing. He knows the bureau won't let him go. He's too valuable an asset. They'll just keep finding new reasons to keep him on this two mile leash until he's of no more use to them.

And, honestly, two miles had seemed like a lot in the beginning. He'd have been happy with just one. But now... Two miles might as well be another cell. He doesn't want to be confined like this. He just wants to be free.

It doesn't look like that'll happen soon. And so the green lingers. Tonight, he sinks into it. By morning it'll be gone. And he'll be back to some other color.

Green, he realizes, is necessary on occasion. Sometimes he needs to remember how it feels, that's all.


	5. Blue

Blue is his favorite color. It's why he is who he is. It's his smile when he has a goal in mind and it's the reason he's so good at reaching those goals.

Blue is his confidence. It's the way he can pull people in without them realizing. It's his eyes as he slowly but surely tricks his way into a building or out of a tough situation.

Blue is his camouflage, which he dons now as Nick Halden charms his way straight into the heart of a dangerous group. He doesn't falter for a second because after all, the best lies are ones that hold an element of truth. Better yet if you let them do all the talking.

That's what blue is. All the schemes and deals and covers. They come from there, from his heart, which is also blue.

His eyes, his ties, his lies.

It is his slippery little habit of getting what he wants and making it so they'll be happy to give it to him. They'll beg to give it to him.

And by the time they realize what's happened, he'll be long gone.


	6. Purple

Neal almost entirely forgets about purple, even when he utilizes it. It's always there though and it's probably the only thing that's kept him away from the really bad stuff.

Conscience, if that's what you want to call it. That tiny little voice that won't let him hurt anyone and won't let him stand by when an innocent person is in trouble.

He's always been that way, right from childhood when he helped another boy in his class stand up to some bullies, or when he was young, just starting out on the streets, and he gave an old man his coat despite it being winter and him having nothing else to wear.

Most of the time, he doesn't acknowledge purple. Sometimes he allows himself to be proud, if only for a second. Few people on earth can truly say they know this feeling of responsibility. Few can say that they would give their life to save another's.

He thinks back and realizes something beautiful.

His mother was purple.


	7. Black

Black, now that is anger. It's like smoke, building up in his chest and snuffing out all color.

He's not an angry person. He tries not to hate people, but right now he's finding that very hard because the man standing in front of him has just won. He wasn't supposed to. He's a murderer and a thief. Neal and Peter were supposed to take him down together but now Peter's down and Neal is the only thing standing between this killer and freedom.

He knows Peter will be alright. He has to hope so anyway, but right now there's black creeping into his heart and he thinks of the little girl who's already lost her life at the hands of this man. He can't just let it go.

He's close enough to grab Peter's gun from its holster and he brings it up to aim at the other. He thinks about pulling the trigger. An eye for an eye. But that's not him. That's the obsidian darkness that still lingers inside.

He takes pleasure at aiming, though. He enjoys the look of anger on the man's face, and black meets black.

Neal sees the little girl's smile. He'd only met her once but she had been so beautiful, so innocent.

It's really hard not to take matters into his own hands, so he stands there, gun raised, like an agent. He waits for backup, like an agent. And when it arrives, he walks away.

The black is fading slowly.


	8. Pink

He felt pink with Kate, and it was so strong, but she's long gone now. He felt pink with Sara, but it wasn't the same. It felt forced. He felt pink with Maya, but he wondered if that was just James and not Neal. He felt pink with Rebecca, but that... That wasn't smart. It shattered when he realized just who she was.

Pink has eluded him ever since. He's given up trying to find it again, but then there are more than a few shades of pink.

There's the light, beautiful color that represents love between two people who love each other so deeply they would do anything together.

With June, it's fuschia. He loves her too, but differently. She's family. He likes to think of her as his honorary grandmother. She would probably accept the title happily.

Mozzie too. He's Neal's best friend. He's been there longer than anyone else ever has and on more than one occasion Neal has wanted to hug him so tight and never let go because he's so so patient and loyal.

It's the same with Peter and Elizabeth. He loves them too, like family. They are, in a way. When he's over for dinner, they talk about family things, he helps with the dishes, he has drinks with Peter outside. It's the closest to a real family that he's ever had.

Besides, pink is one of the strongest colors there is. How can he ignore it?


	9. White

Neal is not familiar with white. Actually, scratch that. He wasn't familiar with white before now.

Now, he's lying on his back with fake blood staining his chest and a fake bullet wound on his skin, but there's real poison and he did that on purpose.

White begins to creep in.

It's stunningly new. He knows what it is, but it just doesn't feel like he imagined it would.

Death is supposed to be panic and pain and all manner of terrible things, but right now all he can feel is... White. There's no other word for it.

It doesn't begin to thicken until he's in the ambulance, and he closes his eyes, feeling it numb his body and fog his thinking.

He knows he'll wake up again. It's all part of the plan, but a small piece of him almost wishes he could stay here in this void of nothing. It's soft and warm and welcoming and oddly enough, he's reminded of one Sunday afternoon, sitting at home bathed in sunlight while he painted a picture. One of his own. He had so few of those...

White is all colors put together. It's peace and fear and joy and sadness and mischief and caring and anger and love and more things he doesn't understand.

White is all he knows now and soon enough, not even that...


End file.
